by Ian Rodgers
“I don’t feel anything,” Enrai said with a half-hearted shake. “Maybe it’s your magic reacting to something in the jungle? Like some sort of ancestral fear or curse or whatnot?”
“That is possible,” Ain muttered. “I do recall somewhere in my history lessons that the orc Shamans were skilled at curses and the like. Perhaps they did do something in retaliation to my people’s actions that is affecting me now.”
“There you go! It’s nothing sinister, just an ancient grudge-born curse, carried down through the centuries!” Enrai said with a laugh. “You know what? Why don’t you try a bit of meditation? It always helps clear my head!”
“I think I’ll do that after dinner,” Ain agreed after thinking it over. “It could help me clear my head.”
“There you two are!” Dora called out to them as they finally reached the campfire. “What were you two discussing that made you into snails?”
“Orcs and elves and how Ain will survive in the jungle,” Enrai said with a dismissive wave. “I’d put gold down on our Spellsword here getting poisoned within a week.”
“No bet,” Dora snickered, and Ain frowned, annoyed that they had so little faith in his survival abilities.
“I won’t get poisoned at all!”
They continued to bicker and laugh at each other until one of the Greysliver cooks brought over their food.
“Here ya go! Eat it while it’s hot!” the crewman said.
“Thanks,” Dora said, shooting the man a smile. He flushed somewhat and turned away, embarrassed. But Ain caught a flicker of sadness and another emotion run through the cook’s eyes before his face turned aside.
Ain hid a frown behind his bowl of stew. He’d recognized the second emotion, and, judging from the way Enrai’s smile stiffened, the Monk had caught a glimpse of it too.
Shame.
But what would the man have to be ashamed about? Besides being a filthy slaver, of course?
Letting his suspicions and his gut guide him, Ain looked down into the stew. He took a deep breath, letting the aroma invade his nostrils. To an outsider, it looked like he was enjoying the scent. In truth, he was checking it for odd smells.
Beside him, Enrai was happily spooning the meal into his mouth, seemingly without a care in the world. But a Monk was a master of using magic, and they could use it inside their bodies as easily as a mage or Healer could project it outside.
He was flooding his mouth and stomach with mana, checking for and neutralizing any harmful substances present. Enrai tapped his spoon against the rim of the bowl with a content sigh once it was empty, but unknown to all but Ain, the Monk’s rhythmic beat was a code.
Ain’s eyes narrowed before he schooled his expression back to normal, and he ate the stew as well, carefully letting his own magic dissolve the poisons his friend had noticed.
They did not alert Dora, however, however, for the Monk had revealed it was not lethal. A slow acting tranquilizer of some sort. While Dora was unconscious, they would act. The duo did not want her to see the aftermath of their escape.
“You know, I’ve said it already, but I’ll say it again: I cannot wait to have real food. Stew is decent, but I want something more meaty and tasty,” Enrai complained.
“Stop being so rude!” Dora said, slapping Enrai’s shoulder. A few chuckles broke out from among the other caravan workers nearby.
“Nah, it’s fine. Everyone here is looking forward to a meal that doesn’t have excessive amounts of salt in it,” one of them said, waving off the Healer’s worries. The men began chatting about the different meals they wanted to eat when they stopped off at the unnamed border town.
Nobody appeared to be acting out of the ordinary, but the Monk and Spellsword continued their silent vigil over their surroundings.
Nothing happened to Dora the rest of the evening. She was as wide awake and active as always. This made Ain and Enrai suspicious, and slightly curious, about what the Greysliver Caravan had slipped into their food.
Around midnight Dora began to yawn and returned to her tent for the evening. Ain and Enrai also decided to turn in. This raised no suspicions from the caravan. The elf and human always accompanied Dora where ever she went, and made sure when she slept, they were nearby.
But this time, the elf and human stayed awake, ready and waiting for anything. As they lay on their backs and feigned sleep, Enrai even managing to mimic believable snoring sounds, the caravan stirred with activity. Several men approached Dora’s tent, and through the fabric of their own tents, Ain and Enrai tensed.
“Let’s grab the Healer first,” one of the men said. A round of grunted agreements came forth, and Ain’s ears counted three other voices. So, four in total. Easy prey.
“Good idea. She’ll be a nice hostage for the other two if they try anything funny,” another crewman uttered.
At that, Ain no longer waited, and snatched up his saber. He shot forward, tearing through the side of his tent and appearing in a flash in front of the traitorous caravaneers.
“What in the…?!” one of them shouted, only to be cut off by a flick of Ain’s blade, severing his left arm. The disarmed man fell to his knees, screaming in pain as he clutched his stump. Another man tried to raise a cudgel to attack the elf, but he too was stopped from acting when Enrai tore through his own tent and appeared with red flames crackling around his fists.
The Monk delivered a body blow to the club-wielding man, sending him flying with his shirt alight. The remaining two slavers were stunned, and quickly dispatched. One was blasted with a strong, electrical shock courtesy of Ain, and the last had his right arm shattered and sent flying by a roundhouse kick delivered by Enrai.
Their opponents taken out, they quickly took defensive positions in front of Dora’s tent. Strangely, she didn’t seem to have been disturbed by the noise and remained asleep. That worried the pair, as they knew the Healer was a light sleeper. Such a trait was necessary in the Dreadlands, where nocturnal predators and unscrupulous people were common.
By now, the rest of the Greysliver Caravan had noticed what was going and formed up in opposition to Ain and Enrai, clutching weapons and growling at the two foreigners. Durmod and Surd pushed their ways to the front of their minions, also armed.
The orc had grabbed a Saludan scimitar sword, its curved blade glinting menacingly in the firelight, while his half-orc lieutenant wielded a glaive.
“How are you both still awake?!” Durmod demanded furiously, glaring at the two.
“A simple trick all Monks are taught is to use our mana to burn away weak toxins and drugs. I passed it on to Ain a while back, since it’s quite useful and we hadn’t met Dora yet so we lacked healing skills,” Enrai declared proudly, fists still wrapped in crimson flames.
“Not to mention, we were suspicious of you early on,” Ain added. His smirked, glad his intuition had proven correct. He then scowled. “What did you feed us?”
“Endless Dream, a subtle, magical drug that keeps a person asleep indefinitely. No outside stimulation can wake her now, unless she’s fed the antidote,” Surd said smugly, shifting his polearm to a lax posture. “So, if you want her to ever escape her dreams, then play along.”
“How about we crush you instead, and take the antidote from your cold, dead bodies?” Enrai shot back, giving his counter offer along with a middle finger towards the male half-orc.
Surd frowned, but it was Durmod who spoke, “You cannot possibly think you can beat all of us, can you?” he scoffed. “You’re strong, I’ll give you that, but there are thirty of us, and only two of you.”
Ain and Enrai shared a smirk, then looked back to the members of the Greysliver Caravan.
“We’ll take you up on those odds,” Ain said, leveling his saber at the orc boss, the edge writhing with lightning.
“Yeah, it’s almost an unfair advantage,” Enrai added as flaming wings unfolded from his back. “For us, that is.”
The pair lunged, magic blazing and crackling. The crew of slavers, used to
fighting people of similar strength or weaker, were unprepared and slaughtered.
Durmod managed to block three of Ain’s blows before his own blade shattered. A bolt of lightning impaled the orc through the chest and the slaver was dead before his body hit the ground.
Surd fared slightly better, dodging Enrai’s fists rather than taking him head on, but the heat and flames washed over him and the sweat was making his palms slippery, and his grasp on his polearm was weakening.
The half-orc might have been quick enough to flee from the Monk’s power, but many of the other slavers were not. Their clothes ignited, their flesh burned, and Enrai’s reckless fighting style sent shockwaves of magic everywhere, knocking them down and away.
“Damn you!” Surd shouted, slashing at Enrai’s neck, but the Monk caught the blade with his bare hands and melted the metal into slag. As the half-orc gaped at him, Enrai lashed out with his legs, tripping Surd and causing him to fall onto his back.
Enrai swiftly pinned the slaver to the ground, pressing his right foot onto his chest while keeping a fist cocked and ready to smash into Surd’s face if the half-orc tried anything.
“Why did you do this? Were you hired? Have a grudge against Dora and the Yellowmoon Menagerie? What was it?” the Monk demanded, his gaze sinister. In the background, the roar and crack of thunder and lightning, accompanied by screams, told the two fighters what was happening to the rest of the Greysliver Caravan at the end of Ain’s blade.
“…It was Sherfield,” Surd finally spat out. “He was the one who hired us to capture the three of you.”
“Sherfield? That knight-guy from the Weeping Outpost?” Enrai asked, surprised.
“Yeah. He just wanted the girl for himself. You two were just a bonus,” the half-orc said through clenched teeth.
“And you’d break whatever agreement you had with Reed for this?” Enrai questioned.
“Our deal with the Blackjack of Creidor was to get you three to the border of the Cracked Land. Nothing else. What happened after that was all up to fate. So, Durmod was going to drug you all tonight and cart you back to Sherfield once we were done with the rest of our business,” Surd explained. “With the Endless Dream he gave us, we could keep you three asleep and docile until it was too late.”
“I see,” Enrai said, his fury cooling down somewhat. The flames around his raised fist however only grew hotter.
“Wait! You need me! Without the antidote…!” Surd shouted, panicked.
“I’m afraid that is not the case,” the Monk said calmly. “All Ain and I need to do is find where you hid the antidote and take it back. But the odds are you don’t actually have the cure. Sherfield is the one who actually has it, doesn’t he?”
Surd flinched, proving Enrai’s words to be true. The Qwanese warrior smirked. “Besides, we don’t need any antidotes. Between Ain and I, we can burn the drugs out of her body. But it might not come to that. Dora’s full of surprises. In the end, though, she’ll be fine.”
The flames around his fist became white hot. “Farewell, Surd. You won’t be missed.” Enrai punched, sending a jet of searing flames straight at the half-orc’s head. In less than five seconds, only a scorched crater was left; everything above the neck was gone and reduced to ash.
“So, it was Sherfield who planned this,” Ain mused, walking over to Enrai as he removed his foot from the corpse’s chest.
“I get the feeling there was more to it than that,” Enrai claimed, glancing back at where Durmod’s body lay. “I don’t think Durmod and Scarrot got along. Rivals, perhaps? Whenever any of us mentioned him, or the Yellowmoon Menagerie, he got this cruel look in his eyes.”
“Well, he’s dead now,” Ain said with a shrug. “As are the rest of his minions.” He looked around at the horses. That they’d been tied up securely for the night was the only reason the steeds hadn’t bolted when the fighting started. As it was, they were all panicked and prancing about nervously.
“Should we free them?” he wondered.
“It seems cruel to just leave them tied up without their owners. They’ll die out here without food or water. Might as well let the horses go free,” Enrai said.
He proceeded to look around at the ruins of the camp. The duo had not bothered to restrain themselves much as they’d fought. Tents were ablaze, as were a few wagons. Gouges split the earth, and scorch marks littered the ground alongside body parts.
“We should also salvage what we can from these guys. Money and spare supplies are always welcome.”
“Good idea,” Ain agreed. He then looked back at Dora’s tent with worry, the only part of the camp not ruined by their battle. “Do you really think she’ll be alright?”
“Absolutely. Surely you’ve felt it too? She’s changed. Not just in her mana, either. And there is a trace of Divine magic about her. I believe she’ll be fine.”
Ain nodded at Enrai’s observation. “You’re right. Let’s clean this place out.”
The two worked through the night, clearing away the mess while looting it. There was nothing else to do. And nothing else to say. And Dora slept through it all.
Chapter 14: An old and yellow moon
An irritating buzzing sound filled Dora’s skull, and she twitched slightly. Were there dust flies attacking her tent again? She was fairly certain she hadn’t left any food out that would attract those annoying insects this time.
The buzzing stopped grinding against her ears, and slowly started to resolve into garbled words.
“… try… down… again?”
“No… safe… understand?”
“… plan seems… alone like that?”
“Well… any better ideas… let me know!”
“Argh! Stop fighting, you two!” Dora groaned as the distorted noise slowly became recognizable to her as Ain and Enrai arguing. But what were they arguing about? And why were they doing so in her tent? She tried to open her eyes, but all she could see were blurry colors.
“…awake! Quick, get some water!”
“Oh, thank you, something to drink would be lovely, my mouth feels full of grit,” Dora said softly, her throat scratchy and weak.
“Dora, how are you feeling?” Enrai asked as he handed her a cup of water. She assumed it was a cup of water. Her eyes were still playing tricks, and the Qwanese Monk looked like a smudged painting of a man holding an equally indistinct cylinder out towards her.
The Healer still managed to sit up reach out to snag the cup from him, though, but her hands shook, spilling the liquid all over her.
“Damn it,” Dora tsked to herself. “What’s going on? Why do I feel so weak?”
The two blurred forms of Ain and Enrai shared a look with each other. After a bout of non-verbal communication, the Grand Elf spoke.
“Listen, this might not be what you want to hear, and you probably won’t believe us, but last night, Durmod and the Greysliver Caravan betrayed us and tried to capture us as slaves.”
“What?” Dora demanded in disbelief.
“It’s true! They laced our food with a drug called Endless Dream to keep us asleep while they transported us back to the Weeping Outpost. Apparently, Sherfield paid them to do this because he wanted you as a personal slave,” Enrai said, backing up Ain’s words.
“No, that can’t be…” Dora muttered, more to herself than to her companions. “What happened?”
“Ain felt that something was off. His elfish senses were tingling and telling him the caravan crew was acting suspiciously. So, we did what we had to do. After you fell asleep, we took care of them,” Enrai explained.
“…Where are we now?” Dora asked, still staring at her lap.
“In the border town. We carried you there first thing in the morning. We’re currently staying in the sole inn of the place. It’s evening right now, you’ve only just woken up after your necklace purged the drug from your system,” Ain stated. “It was quite the sight! It was glowing white and yellow until an hour ago.”
Dora’s eyes drifted to th
e silver and gold charms that hung around her neck. The divine energy that had been within the symbols of the goddesses had faded somewhat, but was still there, providing a comforting presence that she latched onto.
“What’s the plan for now?” she inquired, still not looking at either of them, her fingers caressing the charms.
“At the moment, nothing. You need to rest and recover from being drugged. Another day in bed should see you right as rain,” Enrai said. “Once you’re all better, then we can discuss where to go from here.”
“Did you kill them?” she asked after a moment of silence. Dora looked up at her two friends, their features slowly coming into focus. Neither of them answered, but their silence, as well as the pained expressions on their faces, told the half-orc everything.
The Healer looked back down into her lap and fought back her tears. “Was there no other choice?”
“There might have been,” Enrai admitted after a short pause. “But we chose the option that kept you safe as well as ensured they wouldn’t come after us again.”
“I see,” Dora mumbled. She lay back down on her bed, turned onto her side facing away from the duo, and closed her eyes. “I’m tired… just let me rest for a bit…”
Ain and Enrai said nothing, but Dora heard their footsteps, followed by a door open and close. The half-orc maiden did not cry. Despite her earlier moment when the tears had threatened her eyes, she couldn’t muster up enough sadness to actually weep for the men of the Greysliver Caravan. And she felt like a monster because of it.
∞.∞.∞
“How do you feel this morning, Dora?” Enrai asked the next day as he entered her room, a bowl of soup in one hand and a concerned expression on his face.
“Weak, but other than that, well enough,” Dora replied. She sat upright in the bed, wearing a distant look as she stared out the window. The room Enrai and Ain had rented for her was small but had a window that faced directly south. From the bed, she could peer out at the tangled webs of vines and thick green leaves of the jungle swaying in the breeze. So close, yet so far.
